Do Começo ao Fim
by Mokushi Ryuu
Summary: The Ainulindalë stretches across all of existence, piercing the barriers between worlds, gifting those it deems worthy with Creation, Calling fourth life and doing the will of the Ainur, who in turn, do the will of Eru Ilúvatar. SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

Yes, I am starting a new story - I start a new one every week, but 99% of them never get posted even though half of them are complete - Yes it is Lord of The Rings. My untitled LOTRxover is currently being held prisoner in Nurmengard being tortured by a Gimp-Gummy Bear. Enjoy and let me know if you'd like me to write more (currently, this is all there is of this plot-bunny)

On a side note, after a few weeks of treatment, I am now clean and sober (Yay me) and plan to write more coherent and cohesive pieces that (again) may or may not see the light. ENJOY!

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><p>Prologue.<p>

When you are a god, time and space are irrelevant. You can create a being in, what seems like, seconds; and in actuality it is millions of years. You think outside of time, and therefore know all. What is, what has been, and what will be.

When you are a god, you can mould the perfect world from the sweat on your brow, fill it with the most wondrous of creatures, and sit back, in contentment. You can look to your right, into the future, see a need, and call upon he who shall best fill that need.

When you are a god, time and space are irrelevant.

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><p>I realise that it needs to be longer, and that I could just tack this on to the first chapter, but I wont, and please don't bitch at me about it. If you do, please be on the look out for a two worded reply that starts with an 'F' and ends with and 'F!' you have been warned. Flaming Wankers.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Here's Chapter 1! *Please note that this doesn't set a precedent, I will not be updating this story daily.*

Enjoy!

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><p>Since the Dawn of Time the Song of the Ainur, the Ainulindalë, periodically filtered into the minds of The Children of Ilúvatar. It flowed as it always had, since the expulsion of Melkor, seeking and shaping; all in the name of Eru Ilúvatar, the All Father. Most had learned to appreciate it's haunting beauty as it sought out what ever it searched ceaselessly for.<p>

Artanis, known throughout the Lands surrounding Lothlórien as Galadriel, paused as the song washed over her. She closed her eyes and seemed as still as any statue that dared to grace the halls of her Son-in-Law's Home, at Rivendell. The song had, more often than not, confused her as it tirelessly called to someone. It had been so since she had been a little girl, and even before that, she had heard.

Blessed with the gifts of Eru Ilúvatar himself, she tried in vain to pierce the veil of mystery that cloaked the hidden meaning of the Ainulindalë. She had eventually given up, content to bask in the ethereal reminder of the All Father.

Without warning, something within the song changed, a joy seemed to spread through the strings, infecting all who would listen. Anticipation followed, dragging concern along for the ride. Joy again, then sorrow, determination. A tugging made itself known in her chest, followed by a feeling of triumph, then more sadness, concern. The song fell silent once again, for the longest minutes of her immortal life.

Again, without warning, the song was back, stronger than ever, carrying with it a spark of life. This spark, a towering inferno of power, quickly disappeared and all across Eä, the Children of Ilúvatar felt contentment.

Artanis smiled, eager to know exactly what was going on, hurried to her Seeing Basin, pouring out the crystal waters and gazing into their depths. 

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><p>Beneath the sound of blood pounding in his ears, Harry James Potter, Master of Death, could hear a sweet song, calling to him. As he resisted, the call became a pull, trying to drag him away from the battle. Only his determination to see the end of the war kept him from following that pleasantly insistent tug.<p>

With the three Deathly Hallows feeding him their ancient magic, and the calling song filling him with the promise of better things to come, Harry Potter struck down Voldemort, severing his life string and sending his mutilated soul to the afterlife. Voldemort was no more, except for the shard living in Harry's scar.

He held out just long enough to see the survivors of the war begin to rebuild, before he gave into the song and disappeared from the world in a fantastic light show, nothing left behind but flower petals blowing in the wind. 

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><p>When Harry reappeared, he was surrounded by warm darkness. He was confused, because normally the Dark was cold, bringing on hysterical claustrophobia. This soothing darkness lulled him into a stupor, from which he never fully awoke from.<p>

In his more lucid moments, he became aware of another presence extremely close by, so close they were physically touching. He turned his soft form as best he could towards the presence that dared to invade his space. His senses told him that they were exactly the same shape, though the other entity was far weaker than he. Ignoring it, Harry fell back into his warmth induced sleep.

When next he gained sweet lucidity, it was with confusion. The walls of his world were quivering, clenching spasmodically around both he and the other presence. Turning his attention to the second presence, he could see a vague shape, but for some reason, his eyes couldn't pierce the darkness and it hurt to try, so he closed them and sent out his magic. He was alarmed to see that life was slipping away from the second creature. It was dying.

Unable to curb his instincts, Harry poured his magic into the second entity, willing it to live, to be strong. The convulsions ceased as life bloomed again. Exhausted, Harry sank into true unconsciousness.

Time passed, as it tends to do, and Harry eventually forgot about the painful incident. He was content to do nothing but feel safe and warm. It was a novel feeling for him, what with his previous life being full of pain and neglect. He fervently wished his afterlife, or whatever this was, would feel like this always.

More time passed, and again, the walls of Harry's home began to contract and release, squeezing him painfully. He could feel a rising panic within himself, and an answering echo from the second entity. Suddenly, the second entity was being evacuated, pulled from the close confines of the sweet dark that had been their home for time immemorial.

An eternity later, Harry felt a pull, more of a tearing really, that urged him down and out. He resisted, fighting with all of his might. Without warning, his strength failed him, and he was squeezed painfully on all sides, until he was suddenly bathed in light. It hurt, and he screamed out his pain, twitching and jerking as a sudden bone deep cold flooded his seeming small being.

He forced his aching eyes open as his cries quieted. Taking in the joyful face that loomed before him, a stunning realisation struck Harry with such force that all he could do was scream and rail at the unfairness of it all.

He had been born again. 


	3. Chapter 3

Here's Chapter 2! Thank you to all of you who have reviewed. If any of you are wondering, I plan on re-writing the as of yet untitled lotr/hp xover, i admit i was plenty ambitious when i started it, but it kind of got away from me. chapter will be canabalised and others will be drug around back and just plain shot in the head execution style.

Enjoy!

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><p>Elrond Half-Elven paced in his study, the change in the song of the Ainur greatly concerned him. For his entire life, and even before that, the song had been about searching, seeking, now it was merely a song of contentment, a song that now, merely sang praises to Eru Ilúvatar. Now, his wife was in labour with their third and last child.<p>

There had been a scare months before when she began to miscarry, but thanks to the intervention of the Valar, she recovered quickly and their child was saved. He mused on the odds that Celebrian would bare him a son when all he really wanted was a daughter at last. Not that he didn't love his Twin sons, he was very proud of the young warriors that they were becoming.

He approached the room where his beloved was staunchly baring the birthing pains, attended by Gandalf himself. Elrond thought it an honour that the Maia would be the one to deliver his last child. Standing by his wife's side, he felt, more than saw, the entrance of his In-Laws.

Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn had arrived only hours ago, with no prior notice. Though, where Galadriel was concerned, she often did not need to give notice. The Royal Couple stood out of the way as Elladan and Elrohir charged into the room, side by die and panting, eager to greet their new sibling as he or she came into the world.

The contractions began anew and elrond supported his wife as she pushed and pushed. Her relieved screams momentarily drowned out those of Elrond's new daughter, cradled in the wizened hands of Gandalf the Grey. She was presented to him, and elrond beamed down at her, even as he gently placed her in Celebrian's arms.

He quickly took her back though, and Celebrian screamed again and clutched at her still rounded abdomen. She was pushing again, hemorrhaging copious amounts of blood. Elrond handed his daughter to Galadriel, who had stepped up in concern, and rushed to his wife's legs, trying to see the problem. Before his very eyes, she opened again and a tiny grey foot was visible.

"By the Valar! Another one!" he exclaimed. It was breech, making the birth extremely dangerous for both Mother and child. He applied as much healing magic as he could spare, but each time, it was rebuffed. Some other force was shielding the child from him. He could only use physical means to aid his beloved. Two feet now, and Gandalf had moved to gently press on Celebrian's stomach, trying to force the stuck babe free.

A tiny waist appeared, and the sex proclaimed it to be a boy. A tiny chest, unmoving, inched it's way out and then all progress stopped. Sending his beloved an apologising look, Elrond reached in, wincing at the increase in screams, and wrenched his third son's shoulder loose, thus freeing the babe of it's Mother.

For being such a tiny thing, his son was quite feisty. Writhing and screaming before calming down and wrenching his new eyes open. Elrond stared down into ethereal green eyes and was lost, instantly in love. He was snapped back as the eyes slid closed and the screams returned, twice in volume. Celebrian reached out for her son weakly, and Elrond gently placed him in her arms. A glow overcame the both of them, giving much needed colour to Celebrian. She stared down at his calming form, and named him.

"Meldarion Elerossë. My beloved surprise." she whispered, though her voice carried throughout the silent room. She looked up and her eyes fell upon her daughter, "Arwen Undomiel. Her beauty will rival my own mother's."

"Of that I have no doubt." Galadriel said, stepping closer to the bed and presenting her Daughter with her daughter. "Hello little Prince." she greeted her grandson.

"He is a strong one." Celeborn said, stepping up beside his Lady Wife. He gazed down at his newest grandchildren with adoration. Celebrian handed Arwen to Gandalf, who checked her over and smiled.

"She is strong and healthy. Congratulations." he handed her back and took Meldarion, his brow creasing in thought. Examining every inch of the babe, he found a strange birthmark; more of a tattoo really. It was a perfect triangle, with a circle at it's centre, bisected by a straight line.

"Curious." he muttered.

"What is it Gandalf? Is my son alright?" Elrond asked, anxious.

"Yes, yes, he is fine. Completely healthy. I have found a strange birthmark over his heart, though." Gandalf explained, showing Elrond.

"What does it mean?"

"I do not know. Perhaps he has been marked by the Valar himself, for greatness." Gandalf conjectured. Harry squirmed in the Ancient Istari's arms, stunned at the eerie similarity between this incident and when he bought his wand.

The thought of his wand, and his subsequent acquisition of the Elder wand, made his heart constrict painfully. The glass in the window shattered as Harry, now Meldarion, passed out.

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><p>Gandalf kept his own council most times. This being one of those times. There was something dangerously familiar about Lord Elrond's unexpected son. Aside from the fact that he was ninety-nine percent sure that when Arwen had been conceived, there as no Twin beside her.<p>

He had the aura of an old soul, a weary soul. He would keep an eye on the last Prince of Rivendell. 


End file.
